


I meant it when I said I wanna get well

by sketzocase



Category: All New Wolverine, Dark Wolverine (Comics), Fantastic Four (Comicverse), New Avengers (Comics), The Incredible Hulk (Comics), Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: (he’s really bad at it), Abuse support groups, Alcohol Abuse, Angst and Humor, Depression, Drug Abuse, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family controlling the situation of the mentally ill, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Logan tries to be a good dad, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Illness, Non Cannon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assualt, Physical Abuse, Psychology, Rape Recovery, Support Groups, Therapy, abuse recovery, daken get’s help, dealing with depression, family having financial control, forced medical treatment, forcing someone to go to therapy, needed therapy, skewed narative, some rape non con material in the past, tough calls, trying to do the best for someone who doesn’t appreciate it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-06-24 02:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15620385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketzocase/pseuds/sketzocase
Summary: Daken’s hand is forced and he finds himself (kinda against his will, kinda for his own good) in an abuse victims support group run by a very familiar lady. During this time in his life, Johnny pitches in to help. (Along with Daken’s family (sisters, dad), his dad’s friends (x-men, Avengers), and his new step mother(Who he can't make up his mind on) With all those people involved- wellness is pretty much guaranteed.(No matter how much Daken tries to fight it. And he will...)





	1. Support Group # 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic about recovery. 
> 
> Not at all dark- but kinda angsty. 
> 
> I realized I’ve written tons of fics about being sick- but none about what comes after that!  
> So this one is about healing, growing, and learning to understand (not forgive, but understand) the tragedy. 
> 
> With the help of half the super hero community- he just might (maybe) make it. 
> 
> ***Please read the begins of notes/chapter titles for additional warnings. Some of the stuff discussed may air on the side of triggering, though I’m trying to approach it in a different manner than usual. The idea of someone ‘forcing’ mental treatment isn’t abuse in my book becuase I know from experience- that the mentally ill (me) don’t always know what’s best to do. You have to be considerate and compassionate- but sometimes help is hard to get without someone stepping in to help. I’m not tagging it as abuse becuase I do not mean for it to be abusive.**********

I stare at the steeple of the church looming in front of me.   
  
Catholic. I’m not even remotely religious and if I were  _ if  _ I were- I wouldn’t be Catholic. Too much guilt.   
  
Guilt and I do not get along.   
  
Out of all the 'new' emotions I've learned- guilt is my least favorite.   
  
“This is pointless.” I growl, tightening the drawstrings of my blue hoodie. Well- Johnny’s hoodie. “I don’t know what the fuck he’s trying to prove.”   
  
That I’m “dysfunctional” most likely.   
  
Or he wants me to show some emotion.   
  
I’m not good at that- Johnny can attest.   
  
My sister shifts her weight from one foot to the other before leaning on my car.   
  
This one is black. Mustang. I wanted something less flashy. Red cars attract so much attention, after all.   
  
Normally I mind when people lean on it like she is, but I’ll let that go right now in favor of settling my uneasiness via complaining.   
  
It’s not like Laura will particularly mind my voicing my discomfort. She’s the only fucking person on the planet who actually listens to me.   
  
“It’s what’s best,” Laura says. “For all of us.” She pauses. “And he’s not trying to “prove” anything. He doesn’t have to. Your actions are all the proof needed. You’re lucky he’s not pushing NA as well.”   
  
I glance at her through my sunglasses. “Not what’s best for all- I wouldn’t do this for him,” I say. “This is for you and Gabby. That’s it. That’s the entire list. There will be no one added on to it.”   
  
For my sisters- it is a little-known fact that I would do just about anything.   
  
Even something as pointless as this little endeavor.   
  
“That’s fair,” Laura says with a nod. She’s dressed in her ‘not wolverine anymore’ uniform. Something that still vaguely says something Wolverinish about her- but she’s not actually him.“I just want to know that we, not just Gabby and myself, are all very proud of you.”   
  
“It’s noted.” I grouse. “I don’t care- but it’s noted nonetheless.”   
  
That’s a partial truth. In reality, I care a little more than I’d like to admit. Not much- but more than normal situations.   
  
“Sessions last two hours,” Laura says. “Use them to your advantage. I’m told they can be very helpful.”   
  
Like fuck I will.   
  
"And take those glasses off." She says. "It's after sunset. You look ridiculous."   
  
I groan.   
  
"Give them here." She says- like I'm some kind of child.   
  
"I'm not Gabby, Laura."   
  
"No- you're not," Laura smirks. "Gabby knows better than to wear sunglasses after dark."   
  
"Oh haha." I sneer, taking the glasses off and handing them to her. "Those are 400 dollar sunglasses- don't lose them."   
  
She glances at the glasses- gray, black, and with an overall sleekness that makes them appealing.   
  
"400 dollars??" She asks. "For sunglasses?"   
  
"Beauty has a price," I say simply.   
  
She nods and pockets the glasses in the jacket over her uniform. "Anything else you want to talk about before you go in?" She asks.   
  
"Yes," I say. "In fact, there is. I want to know why I'm here. Why he thinks it's his place to meddle."   
  
Laura shrugs. "It's good for you, that's all I can say about it."   
  
This is Logan’s ultimatum. Go to an ‘abuse survivors’ meeting or move in with him so he can watch me and decide if further steps need to be taken.   
  
I don’t know what ‘further steps’ would require so I graciously took the option where I can go sit in a room full of broken people and laugh about the fact that they know nothing about abuse. A few kicks, some free coffee, maybe a blurb about something minor that will indeed be more major than any of their bullshit.   
  
It’ll be fun.   
  
I’ll do so horribly that they’ll throw me out of the class.   
  
And Logan will back down because I know, I would put a very high bet on this, that he doesn’t want me to live with him.   
  
I see people shuffling into the church. Some strong backed and head high- other’s small and looking a little disheveled. Easy to spot the newcomers.   
  
Laura reaches over and squeezes my hand, drawing my eyes to hers. “I can’t go with you.” She says. “They’re closed sessions. You have to be signed up to attend. They do have family sessions once a month, though. We might look into that.”   
  
“Spare me,” I say dryly.   
  
Laura nods. “I will talk to the others about your feelings on that.”   
  
Laura’s my go-between for me and the others. My buffer of sorts. She relays their messages to me and mine to them so there’s very little interaction with me and them- thus saving me ‘emotional turmoil’.   
  
I nod. “If it is at all possible- keep our overlord out of the decision-making process.”   
  
“You know I can’t promise that,” She says quietly.   
  
“Try,” I say, staring at the church.   
  
“I will," She says, "But I make no promises."   
  
That's fair- I suppose.   
  
We fall into silence.   
  
“You’re worried,” She remarks. I can feel her eyes on me- sizing me up.   
  
Some picture I make right now.   
  
I'm sure my 'friends' and 'colleagues' would laugh their ever-loving asses off if they saw me heading into that church.   
  
For that reason- I keep the hood up.   
  
I wish I hadn't given her my glasses.   
  
I felt safer with them on.   
  
“This isn’t how I wanted to spend my Friday night,” I say.   
  
She chuckles. “Your Friday nights have just got much more interesting than they previously were.”   
  
I can’t help but laugh. “You have no idea.”   
  
We’re quiet again.   
  
“You can leave anytime you’re ready,” I tell her. "I won't keep you."   
  
“Actually,” she smirks, “I can’t.”   
  
“Oh?” I ask curiously.   
  
“I’ll be here when you get out.” She says, “I’ll have to wait until then.”   
  
“Why?” I ask in confusion. "You took a cab here. You can easily call an Uber or something. I'm sure you have a friend or two that can give you a ride."   
  
“Logan doesn’t want you driving to or from the sessions. I’m to be your driver.” She smirks. "And you already got away with driving yourself here because you didn't wait when I told you to."   
  
"You were late," I say dryly.   
  
"By three minutes, Daken." She sighs.   
  
"Three minutes late is still late."   
  
Laura inhales. "I'm to be your driver. He's worried you'll be too upset after sessions and too nervous before."   
  
“Oh, wonderful,” I say. "So kind of him to be 'worried' on my account."   
  
“It’s for your safety.” She remarks, looking at her fingernails. “And he’s not backing down. So accept it.”   
  
“It’s for my containment.” I shake my head. “Fine. Wait by the car. Whatever.” She nods.   
  
This is mostly going to be women. I know it. I’ll be the odd man out. They’ll assume I don’t know what they’re talking about. I’ll keep my assumption that they don’t know what they’re talking about, either.   
  
It will make the time pass faster and give me something to do- silently judging people can be a very fulfilling activity, after all.   
  
I walk up the steps to the big gray church- with its magnificent arches and towers. Someone with money made this one. It’s where the rich and powerful go to ‘pray’ to ‘thank’ the lord for making them rich and powerful.   
  
The whole concept of religion is foreign to me.   
  
When I was younger my father would take me to a temple.   
  
Then when I met Romulus- he was the closest thing to a god I ever experienced.   
  
He liked that.   
  
The thought of him- more so him being the reason I’m here- gives me chills.   
  
I look over my shoulder and see Laura wave.   
  
Fuck. Now she thinks I need reassurance.   
  
I don't. This is nothing. A little blip on my weekend plans.   
  
I'll go, I'll get kicked out, I'll go home.   
  
Not a big deal.   
  
I don't need my hand held as I make all these 'big steps' towards wholeness. Some people are not meant to be whole. Some people are not fixable.   
  
The sooner everyone in my life accepts and understands that- the easier this will be.   
  
I pause at the heavy wooden door to the church. Some kind of biblical scene greets me via Stained glass in the top portion of the door.   
  
Fucked if I know which one.   
  
I inhale deeply and push the door open. Time to get this show on the road. The sooner I get down there, the sooner this is over.   
  
And to be honest, perfectly honest, I kind of miss my bed right now.   
  
Keeping in the vain of that honesty- I've been missing my bed a lot recently. I haven't been sleeping well. Then I've been sleeping most of the day to make up for it. It's a vicious cycle I find myself trapped in.   
  
The inside of the of the church is much like the outside.   
  
Decadent, large, dark with lit candles everywhere.   
  
I walk down the row in the center of the chapel-a line of pews on each side.   
  
Oh, how wonderful it must be to believe in God. To believe that some benevolent being has your best interest in heart.   
  
I want that. If only for a day. That belief that maybe things do get better. That there is good in the world.   
  
It's just not plausible for me to have that.   
  
I accepted that long ago.   
  
There's no reason to be dwelling on it now other than nerves.   
  
And I'll be damned if I let my nerves get the best of me.   
  
The ‘meeting’ is in a room in the basement.   
  
Nothing makes abuse survivors feel better about themselves than locking them in the basement of God's house.   
  
‘You’re not good enough to be in the chapel’.   
  
Please.   
  
I’m probably better than half the people in here.   
  
I stop at one of the 'alters'- a table covered in lit candles.   
  
They represent prayers- If I remember correctly.   
  
The whole chapel is lit. That's a lot of prayers.   
  
Shame none of them are being answered.   
  
Imagine- God's busy. Let me put you on hold.   
  
Ha. Made myself laugh at the image of an angelic receptionist. "Please hold, Please hold, Please hold, department of confessing your deadly sins- how may I help you?"   
  
Sometimes I crack myself up.   
  
I follow the stench of people down the stairs from the dark chapel to the basement- which turns about to white-walled and well lit. To the side of the room is a refreshment table- coffee, doughnuts, and small off-brand cookies on a blue tablecloth.   
  
In the center of the room, there is a large circle of chairs- probably about sixteen of them. It’s a big circle.   
  
Most of the chairs are taken.   
  
Full group- huh?   
  
Means more time will be wasted.   
  
I wonder if they go around the room and make you say your name.   
  
I don't care for that. I won't do it.   
  
Men and women are conversing in a low mumble of conversation. A quiet lull. I can't really make it out.   
  
I wonder what they talk about here?   
  
Abuse?   
  
How do you spend weekend after weekend, night after night, session after session, harping on the same thing?   
  
Don't they have lives?   
  
Lovers?   
  
Jobs?   
  
Hobbies?   
  
I stay to the back of the room by the refreshment table- trying to plan how to proceed.   
  
My mind flitters back to the angel again- making me chuckle a little to myself.   
  
I should take this show on the road.   
  
Standup wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've done for money in my life.   
  
There are more men than I thought there’d be. It’s an even mix.   
  
That- I wasn't expecting.   
  
The men take note of me more than the women do.   
  
I almost wish I'd dressed in something better.   
  
I pull the hood tighter. God forbid they see too much of me.   
  
Their faces are meaningless to me. Not even worth taking note of, honestly.   
  
A brunette with an eerily familiar face locks eyes with me and stands up from her chair, walking in my direction. It looks like she's been talking to everyone in the circle. Could this be our fair leader?   
  
She nods to me as she approaches.   
  
I can’t help but stiffen.   
  
“Daken?” She asks.   
  
I consider her very carefully. “And if I am?” I ask.   
  
She smiles. “I'm Jessica.” When I don’t react she continues with, “An Avenger- with your dad.”   
  
“Ah,” I say. "A lackey."   
  
“I run this support group,” She says. “Logan told me he'd signed you up. Thank you for coming.”   
  
“Yes well... he didn’t give me much of a choice,” I reply dryly.   
  
“I’m glad you’re here regardless of how he strong-armed you into coming.” She smiles again. "Do you want to take your hoodie off?"   
  
"I'm fine," I say.   
  
"You look like you're robbing us." She laughs.   
  
"I'm fine," I repeat.   
  
"Okay- if you're sure." She says. “Come have a seat, we're getting started in a few seconds."   
  
She’s... nice. But not too nice.   
  
I grant her the demand she’s made and take a seat in the circle- between a large blonde man and a small girl with purple and blue hair- furthest away from Jessica.   
  
She clears her throat and everyone that’s wandering around the room takes a seat.   
  
“I’m glad you’re all here tonight.” She says. “Our group is getting kinda big, huh?” She chuckles.   
  
The others join her.   
  
It sounds awkward and forced.   
  
“The rules are the same as every week," She says. “Say what you feel like saying, how you feel like saying it, with the words YOU choose to use.” She looks around at us. “And everyone listening will stay quiet until you are finished. Remarks will be pleasant- but real. Got it?”   
  
Everyone mumbles their agreement.   
  
“Good,” Jessica says with a nod. “Who wants to start this week?”   
  
A small blonde woman in a stained white t-shirt raises her hand. “I’ll go,” she says.   
  
“Okay, Claire.” She says. “Let’s hear it.”   
  
“Well..” The woman clears her throat. “Yesterday was the anniversary of when I left- three years.” She says.   
  
The room claps.   
  
“Yea,” She smiles, looking around. She’s missing some teeth. “Three years.” She continues. “He’s still got my kids.... but... my lawyer is working on it,” Claire says. “Thing is... I’m not scared anymore.” The room is quiet as the small woman composes her next thought, “I’m pissed.” She says. “I’m so, so, SO pissed. Pissed at him, pissed at my mom for making me stay, pissed at myself for letting it happen for so long...” She looks around the room. “Just pissed.”   
  
“That’s normal,” Jessica says. “Trust me- pissed is normal. You're allowed to feel how you feel.”   
  
Claire nods. “Three years though.” She says. “And I’m still alive. I’m still kickin’. He hasn’t taken that away from me.”   
  
The room claps again.   
  
What a load of bullshit.   
  
“How long were you with him?” I ask.   
  
Everyone turns to me.   
  
“What?” The woman asks.   
  
“The man.” I cross my arms. “How long were you with him?”   
  
“About ten years,” Claire says.   
  
Righhht. Ten years. What a big deal.   
  
I nod but don’t say anything else.   
  
“Do you have something to add?” Jessica asks.   
  
“Not particularly.” I motion with my hand to the group. “Please, proceed.”   
  
Jessica eyes me for a minute before saying, “Okay- who wants to share something next?”   
  
And they go around the circle talking about bullshit.   
  
It’s all too much to handle.   
  
I feel like vomiting from the sheer mass of bullshit being shoved down my throat.   
  
‘I stayed for three years’ ‘he’s been my dad my whole life’ ‘I didn’t know how to tell her no’.   
  
Blah. Blah. Blah.   
  
Talk to me when you’ve spent close to 60 years with your abuser and had NO right to say no. Not that you didn’t know how to say it- that you weren’t allowed to.   
  
Come to talk to me then.   
  
They know nothing.   
  
Then Jessica launches into her own story.   
  
Her past. What she was made to do. How it happened.   
  
Then how her life is better. How she helps other people, how she’s married to the love of her life, how she has a kid now- a real story of recovery.   
  
Everyone claps much more enthusiastically when she’s finished.   
  
I myself am slightly impressed. She couldn’t say ‘no’ either. She had no choice.   
  
I relate more to her story than any other drab tale I’ve heard tonight.   
  
Her watch beeps and she claps her hands together. “That’s it for this week.” She says. “Anybody want to say anything in closing?”   
  
There’s a bit of mumbling.   
  
“Okay then,” Jessica says. “I hope you all found this helpful and that I get to see you next week. Have a good weekend.”   
  
The people all seem to stand up at once, quickly scattering to their cars.   
  
I stay seated for a moment. When I look up, across the circle, I notice she’s still sitting there too.   
  
“So...”She says, “did it help?”   
  
I take her into consideration. “No,” I answer.   
  
“Really?” She asks.   
  
“Really,” I assure.   
  
“You didn’t feel anything?” She presses.   
  
“Besides extreme boredom?” I ask dryly. “No.”   
  
“Not even when Claire was talking about how long she’d been with her husband?”   
  
I pause. “Why do you ask?”   
  
“She talked- you watched her very intently- and then you asked how long she’d stayed with him. Why did you do that?”   
  
“I wanted to know,” I say simply.   
  
“But why?” She asks.   
  
“I just wanted to,” I say defensively.   
  
Jessica nods. “You found none of this helpful then?”   
  
“What’s the point of sitting around and complaining about the past?” I say. “It doesn’t change. None of it matters. It’s already happened.”   
  
“We’re not trying to change the past,” Jessica says, “We’re trying to find new ways to cope with it. Talking it out. Making sense of the tragedy. Ya know?”   
  
“Sometimes the tragedy doesn’t make sense,” I say darkly.   
  
She nods. “Yea- it can feel like that at the beginning.”   
  
I want to leave- but something holds me to my chair.   
  
“How long were you with him?” She asks.   
  
“Excuse me?” I growl.   
  
“Your abuser.” She presses. “How long were you with him?”   
  
I glare at her.   
  
“I was two years.” She says. “Two years of hell. How about you?”   
  
“I didn’t come here to share sob stories,” I say, standing up.   
  
Jessica nods. “That’s cool if you feel that way. Not everyone opens up their first session.”   
  
“Noted,” I say.   
  
“But.... if you did want to open up, here’s my number.” She says. “Not for anything sexy- Luke will punch a hole in your gut.” She smiles, taking a piece of paper out of her black leather jacket pocket. “If you decide you want to tell someone how long you were with him- lemme know.” She says. “Consider it your assignment for next week.”   
  
“No one else got assignments,” I say as she walks past me.   
  
“Yea? Well, I don’t work with any of their parents.” She says. “I’ll tell your old man you actually came.”   
  
I sigh. “Thanks.”   
  
Jessica nods. “Next week, you may actually even wanna say something.” She smiles.   
  
“I sincerely doubt it,” I say, following her to the stairs.   
  
“Right now you do.” She says. “Just give it a week. You’ll meet with Len-“   
  
“Who?” I ask, interrupting her.   
  
“Your therapist?” She asks.   
  
“My what now?”   
  
“Therapist.” She says. “Everyone in the course is required to go to bi-weekly therapy sessions.”   
  
“What?” I ask coldly.   
  
Jessica sighs. “Logan didn’t tell you- did he?”   
  
“No. He did not.”   
  
I’m seething.   
  
Therapy? Me? Therapy??? What would we even talk about????   
  
“It’s not so bad.” She says. “I’ve known Len for years.”   
  
“I am not seeing a therapist,” I growl.   
  
Jessica holds her hands skyward. “It’s a good deal.”She says. “He’s only charging you half of what his usual fee is.”   
  
“Charging me???” I snarl. “I have to go see some quack against my will and he’s going to charge me for it???”   
  
“He’s gonna charge your dad for it.” She says laughing. “Relax.” She nods to the stairs. “Head up to your car. Get a good night’s sleep. Gimme a text or a call when you complete your assignment.”   
  
I glare at her.   
  
She shrugs. “Glare all ya want.” She says. “I gotta go take care of the baby. Danny’s watching her right now.”   
  
She waves goodbye and walks up the stairs and away from me.   
  
I give it a few seconds so we’re not walking together to head up myself.   
  
The chapel is still candlelit. The smell of smoke and jasmine hits my nostrils.   
  
I make my way to the entrance of the church- making sure everyone is gone before I go to my car.   
  
As she said, Laura is waiting, sitting on the hood of the car playing on her cell phone. She looks up as I approach.   
  
“How’d it go?” She asks.   
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I growl. “Give me my keys.”   
  
“I’m driving- remember?” She says. “Get in the car.”   
  
I curse under my breath and slide into the passenger seat of my own car- knowing better than to fight her over something so pointless.   
  
“Think you could do this on a weekly basis?” She asks when she’s entered the car and sat down behind the steering wheel.   
  
“No,” I say honestly, looking at the window.   
  
“Are you going to keep doing it anyway?” She asks.   
  
“Yes,” I say.   
  
Laura nods.   
  
She pulls off onto the deserted little street- we’re in some little neighborhood, far out from the city limits.   
  
“You want to go to your house or Johnny’s?” She asks.   
  
“It doesn’t matter,”I say, still not looking at her.   
  
“Your house it is.” She mutters, the last words before we ride in complete and utter silence for the next thirty minutes.   
  
Why should I have to entertain Laura?   
  
I didn’t even want to be here in the first place.   
  
I suppose I’ll be putting in a word with our overlord tomorrow about this therapy thing.    
  
I don’t want to involve Laura In case it doesn’t work out in my favor.   
  
I’m trying to save face as much as humanly possible.   
  
Which now that I’m thinking about this whole situation- may just be impossible.


	2. Bedtime #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this is fic .. .three ... I think on the update train.  
> So we're chugging right along! 
> 
> Warnings for this fic are;  
> -mentions of abuse- sexual, physical, emotional  
> -drug abuse mention  
> -drug addiction mention  
> -mention of cocaine  
> -PTSD  
> -nightmares  
> -cuddling  
> -chastity rules  
> -again, mentions of non/con rape- in passing. It's not gone into in any detail. 
> 
> And I honestly think that's it. Though it is 2 am as I'm posting this so it's quite possible I missed something or another. 
> 
> Everything above is just mentioned though, nothing is shown or gone into in any detail whatsoever. (that will be a much later chapter- and I will give proper warnings when it arrises) 
> 
> this fic has gotten a lot of attention and I'm so, so, SO sorry for keeping y'all waiting for so long!  
> Please enjoy and if you wouldn't mind, leave a comment or a kudos. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Fucking support group. 

Got my head five kinds of fucked up- and none of them good.

I was so convinced it wouldn’t bother me.

Yet… here I am. Ruminating on it in the wee hours of the morning because apparently, this is the best time to do so. Apparently.

My minds been so fucked up since I left Friday.

I haven’t been able to unpack everything that was said/done.

Mrs. Jones must have said something to the life giver because I got a message from him congratulating me on going through with it.

He had the nerve to say he was ‘proud’ of me for ‘seeking treatment’ and that I was on my way to ‘wellness’.

What the fuck ever.

I didn’t need his praise.

I mean to say- I don’t. I don’t need his praise.

I need nothing from him. At all.  

I need nothing from anyone.

I can do this on my own.

Stupid support group.

Stupid Logan.

Stupid Romulus.

I have to stop the knee-jerk reaction to react to that last one.

I should feel bad for talking ill of him. That’s what I’ve been trained on. That’s what I’ve been told time and time again.

Even thinking it makes me feel… odd.

“So....” Johnny’s finger traces the lines of the tattoo on my shoulder as we lay on my sofa. “Are you going to talk about it or am I going to have to make you?” He asks.

I stare intently at the television. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”  

“How about the fact that it’s 3 AM and you’re laying on your couch watching sitcoms from the fifties.” Johnny’s hand slides from my shoulder to around my waist.

“I’m not tired.

“False.” Johnny kisses the back of my head. “You had a nightmare.”

“How would you know if I had a nightmare or not?” I grouse. “You weren’t here.”

“I sensed it.” He says. “Everyone sensed it. I was coming into your house and got hit in the face with just this... wave of a fear.”

I’m quiet.

“Did you dream about him?” Johnny asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, watching the black and white picture.

“Was it the dream where you’re in his bedroom?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, much quieter.

Johnny kisses me again. “It’s okay.” He says. “It is okay.”

I just nod.

He squeezes me tightly. “So is this in any way related to that support group you went to on Friday?”

“No.” I lie.

“So you randomly just started having worse nightmares for no reason?” Johnny says. “No reason at all?”

I exhale slowly.

“I know,” Johnny says before I can say anything. “You uh... also, have a lot of cocaine in your bathroom.” He says. “Like... a LOT of cocaine.”

“Want a bump?”

“I flushed it.” He kisses me again, patting my thigh with his hand and moving out from behind me.

“You...” I growl. “Do you have any idea how expensive that was???”

“Do you remember that you promised me you’d try to stop using?” He counters.  

“I said I’d stop using methamphetamines,” I growl. “Not cocaine.”

“And we’re all grateful. When you’re tweaking it is very scary. However, we don’t want coke Daken, we don’t want heroin Daken, we don’t want insane heat brain Daken. We just want--” He points to me.

I stare at him blankly.

“You.” Johnny sighs. “We just want you. Okay?”

I turn back to the television.

“You shouldn’t have flushed my coke,” I mumble. “Major party foul.”

“Excussssseee me for not enabling you.”

“I’ll just go get more.” I keep staring at the screen.

The black and white pictures calm me.

Johnny sighs. “Don’t tell me that, Daken. I’ll have to tell Logan.”

“The fuck you will.” I snarl.

“No more coke,” he says clearly. “I’m serious. I don’t want to come over and find you dead.”

“Please.” I scoff, continuing to watch the screen.

“Why are you using so heavily anyway?” He asks.

“Because I want to,” I growl.

“Got anything to do with that therapy session you’ve got tomorrow?”

“No,” I growl. “And thanks for reminding me.”

“That’s why I’m staying over- right?” He asks.

“And here I thought you just liked my company.”

“It’s an added perk.” He says. “When you’re not sulking.”

“I am not ‘sulking’,” I say indignantly.

“Really? Cause this,” he motions to me. “This looks pretty ‘sulky’.”

“Go back to bed.” I dismiss him.

“Without you?”

I perk up a little. “You want company?”

“For sleeping.” He clarifies.

I groan. “Why won’t you fuck me?”

“It’s uh… kinda a rule.”

“A… excuse me?” I ask.

“A rule,” he says quickly. “Celibacy.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

The air is tense and I know I’m causing it but I’m too pissed to stop.

“Nope.” He grins. “It’ll be good though! We can connect on a deeper level!”

I fish my phone out of my pocket.

“What are you doing?” Johnny asks.

“I’m calling Logan,” I growl.

“It’s three in the morning.” He says.

“And? He just slapped a chastity belt on me. I think he can do with a little early morning wake up.”

Johnny sighs. “Don’t call your dad. Bring up with the doctor tomorrow- okay?”

I put the phone down

“Were you in favor of this rule?” I ask. 

“I mean yes and no,” Johnny says. “I love you, you know I do. Sex is a fun part of our relationship. But I can see why we shouldn’t have it when you’re going through all of this. It’s probably going to bring up some dark memories and you won’t even want to anyway.”

I close my eyes. “Fine.” I hiss. “Go to bed.”

“You’re seriously not coming with me?”

“Nope.”

Johnny taps his foot- a sign of frustration. “Just come to bed.” He says. “Okay? You need sleep. You know you need sleep. Just.. please. Come to bed. Okay?”

I keep staring at the screen, ignoring him.

Times were so simple back then. A world before color.

My world was without color as well. It’s like everything was muted under his care.

Ha. ‘Care’. Is that what I’m calling it?

As I’m watching, it suddenly goes black.

“Okay?” He asks again. I look back to see him holding the remote.

“No. Not okay.” I grouse. “Turn the TV back on.”

“Nope.” He offers his hand to me. “Bedtime.”

“Don’t do this.” I sigh. “I don’t need this right now.”  

“Bedtime.” He repeats.

“Johnny...”

He bends down and captures my lips in a deep kiss. When we pull apart he says very quietly, “Please come to bed.”

I look at him with a look of resignation. “Fine.” I stand to my feet and head back towards my bedroom. “But I’m still mad about the coke,” I tell him when we reach the bedroom.

“For that, I am not sorry.” He grins, plopping down on my bed and patting the mattress. “Come here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own bedroom.” I can’t help but smirk.

“Please come here?” He rephrases his demand.

“Better.” I lay down beside him, letting him smooth his hand along my spine before wrapping the arm around my waist.

“You know- I think this support group will be good for you,” Johnny says quietly.

“Spare me.” I gag.

“No really,” he says. “It sucks at first because it’s making you think about it- but don’t you think that by the end you’ll have a much clearer head?”

“God, you sound like Logan,” I complain.

“Yea well…. We’re all pretty much on the same page here.” He kisses behind my ear.

“I don’t need you to be on his page.” I grouse. “You’re supposed to be on mine.”

“Is it so hard to believe that being on your page means that I’m actually having to be on his?”

“His side is not my side.”

“Well, then my side will be whatever gets you healthy.” He kisses my head. “And you’re not healthy right now, honey.”

“What is healthy?” I grouse. “Are you healthy? Is Logan healthy? Is anyone really someone else’s definition of healthy?”

“I get where you’re coming from- I do,” he says. “But I think a healthy person wouldn’t have had that much cocaine in their bathroom.”

“It takes a lot to get high.” I hiss. “You know this.”

“I know that I asked you to stop using,” he says. “It’s a bad coping mechanism. You’re going to learn better ones.”

“Yea- fuck you.” I start to get out of bed.

“Daken wait.” Johnny sighs. “Just wait.”

I pause mid-removal. “What?”

“I love you.” He says. “And I care about you. You are all I want forever and ever,” he says.

“Johnny…” I groan.

“Really,” he says. “Please… do this for me. Please? For me?”

I look at the ceiling. “Fine.” I’m kind of surprised myself that I just agreed to that.

“Thank you, honey.” He says. “Really. Now lay down. I’ll scratch your back.”

I lay back down, feeling his warmer than average hands on my skin.

He scratches for a long time before asking, “What are your nightmares about?”

“That’s extremely personal.” I snap.

“And I’m your boyfriend. Of three years. Tell me- I won’t tell anyone else, I promise.”

I inhale slowly, letting it out through my nose. “Him,” I say. “There always about him. What he did to me. What he had other people do to me. What he made me do to myself…”

He pulls me closer.

“His claws.” I continue. “His teeth. His eyes. His voice.”

He kisses me again.

“I was with him for so long,” I mumble. “I don’t know why I stayed. I can’t…”

“How long?” Johnny asks.

I turn to look at him. “Sixty-three years.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck.

That’s the actual count.

I knew it off the top of my head. Not a roundabout, not an ‘in the ballpark’. An actual numerical value.

“And how often did he abuse you?”

I swallow. “Multiple times a day.”

“Physical… emotional… sexual?”

“All of the above.” I stare out my closed window.

“And…..”

“And it sucked.” I look over my shoulder at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“How are you feeling talking about it?” He asks.

“Shitty.”

“But you did.” He says. “And it didn’t kill you.”

“Jury’s still out.” I can’t help but smirk.

“My point is, you just talked about it- with me. You can talk about it with the doctor tomorrow.”

I inhale, count to five, and release it through my nose. “That’s different.”

“Oh yeah?” he goes back to scratching. “How?”

“You’re you… and he’s… a stranger.” I say hesitantly.

He spoons me, wrapping a hand around my stomach. “He’s a professional.” He says. “He can help.”

“What am I supposed to say?” I grouse. “Repeatedly raped and beaten by a two-thousand-year-old sociopath can’t possibly be covered in any of his extensive ‘training’.

Johnny kisses me again. “Try your best.”

“Oh, yea? What if my best isn’t good enough?”

“It will definitely be good enough,” Johnny says. “Just try. Okay, honey? Be honest. Be open. Be… you.”

“Me?” I scoff. “I’m always me.”

“No. You’re always ‘Public Daken’,” he says. “Be ‘private Daken’. The you I get to see.”

“If I let everyone see that side of me- I’m done for,” I say tonelessly.

Johnny’s hand caresses my stomach. “You don’t have to have so many walls up all the time.” He says. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“It’s those kinds of thoughts that get you hurt.”

Johnny raises up, leaning over me. “I won’t let anyone hurt you- how about that?”

“Oh, yea? And how are you going to stop them- hmm?”

“I’m a human blowtorch.” He grins. “I’ll figure something out.”

Sixty-three years.

Holy fuck.

Talking about all of this… makes me weak.

How could they possibly think this will make me in any way better than what I am right now?

“I am like I am for a reason,” I say quietly.

“And we all love you,” he says. “But… you can get better than where you are right now.”

“I doubt it.”

Johnny touches my face. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”

“Because it’s pointless.” I exhale slowly. “The drugs are a better method at working this out.”

“Spoken like an addict,” he says.

“Spoken like an intelligent person.” I growl.

Johnny strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Baby… don’t you want to try to work some of this out? Maybe the nightmares will stop. Maybe you won’t tense up when you think about it.”

I nod. “Maybe,” I say after some deliberation. “Or maybe I let all these people in- all of these strangers- and they turn around and use it against me.”

“They’re not going to use it against you.” Johnny leans over and kisses me gently. “You survived sixty-three years of complete hell.” He says. “You can last an hour with a therapist.”

I exhale slowly. “I hope you’re right.”

Sixty-three years. Six decades with the same abusive routine. Over and over and over again. Day in and day out. From the time I was young until I was too old and hardened to care.

I take my phone out of my pocket, typing in the number I’ve memorized.

“Who ya texting?” He asks.

“My other boyfriend.” I joke.

“Yea? Well, ask him if he wants to spend tomorrow morning with you so I can sleep in.”

“Ha ha.” I text a simple ‘Sixty-three’ To Jessica.

There. Done.

I completed my assignment.

Johnny kisses me again. “Proud of you.” He says, laying back down behind me. “So, so proud.”

I can’t help but smile, just a little bit.

He snuggles into my neck. “You should get some sleep now,” he says.

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard.” he jokes. “I need some sleep too. I was in Africa all morning.”

“Tired, dear?”

“So, so, so tired.” He mumbles against my skin.

“You should have gone back to bed when I told you to.” I admonish.

“And miss out on this wonderful cuddling?” he gasps. “Never.”

“Smartass.” I grin.

“Tiredass.” He corrects. “Go to sleep.”

I put my phone on the nightstand, letting it rest there for the rest of the evening.

An hour's passed since my nightmare. We have to be up at six. If I can go to sleep now, I’ll get at least two hours.

Somehow, I know that’s not going to happen.

But I can lie still and let Johnny get a few more hours.

Sometimes that’s all it takes with him. Me giving the smallest of amounts while he does most the work. Sometimes I hate that it’s like that. But a part of me understands that he.. Well… understands. More than anyone.

And that understanding has helped us through some pretty rough spots.

I’m sure, without a doubt, that it can get us through this one.

  
  
  



	3. Therapy #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd I'm back. I know updates from me are going through the fucking roof. I have SOOO Much to say and SOOO Much time to do it in since I'm going on disability.  
> What that means for you, my lovely readers, is that I have all the time in the world to update and as of right now, a really big desire to do it! 
> 
> So, this chapter's warnings are;  
> \- talk of abuse  
> -talk of triggers  
> -talk of sexual abuse  
> -therapy sessions  
> -psycho therapy  
> -Talk of triggers  
> -triggering statements  
> -reluctant health seeker  
> -(aka Daken does NOT dig it in the slightest)  
> -talk of triggers (again)  
> -PTSD  
> -Talk of PTSD assessments.  
> \- Psych evals.  
> and I honestly think I've covered everything. 
> 
> Then again, this is another wee hours of the morning update so... meh. 
> 
> OH- also- a lot of Daken's back story is.. shall we say 'muddled' by various writers. SO we know he was abused but it never really goes that into it. So I've had to use a lot of head cannons to get from point A to point B. So non of this is canon compliant simply b/c canon can't make up its damn mind. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!

The second's tick by slowly- adding up to minutes at an agonizing pace. 

As if I’m stuck inside some sort of… time vortex. A wormhole of sorts.

I count each of them dutifully. As I have since I sat down.

As far as I’m concerned the clock starting ticking as soon as he closed the door.

The man in front of me smiles pleasantly but lets our awkward silence sit.

I stare around his office- large, well lit, couches and chairs provided in a square around an office chair with a small desk pushed to the back of the room with a laptop on it.

In his hands- a notepad.

He’s a large man in a tailored suit. Green hair atop his head.

He’s worked with dozens of ‘heroes’ and villains. I think Lester may have even seen him once upon a time.

The fact that he can walk away from a therapy session with Bullseye and keep breathing really says something.

He must be hard to put down.

Not that I’m particularly at the train of thought just yet. But… it’s nice to keep my options open.

“Have you already been tested for PTSD?” He asks after a full minute of seconds.

“No.”

“Uh-hmm.” He writes something down. “And do you think you should be?”

“No.”

His questions are messing up my count.

He writes something else down. “How long have you been having nightmares?”

“A while.”

“Uh-hm. How long is a ‘while’?”

“A while,” I repeat dryly.

Len lowers his notebook. “We got an hour of this to get through, Daken.” He says. “One-word answers aren’t going to cut it or make it go any faster.”

“How long have we been in here?”

Tick tick tick. Another three seconds.

“You tell me- you’ve been visibly counting the seconds.” He looks back down to his notebook

“Ten minutes?” I ask.

“Five.” He smiles. “Your count is off.

Fuck.

“I want to go,” I say.

“Mandated hour.” He looks back up to me while scribbling something. That page is almost full. That irks me. We’ve only been in here five minutes and I haven’t said anything ‘noteworthy’ as of yet.

And I won’t.

He keeps writing, eyes briefly flicking from me to the yellow paper in his hands.

“Why have your written so much? I haven’t said anything.”

“Making observations.” He says, looking up at me. “I take note even when you don’t say anything. Makes me understand why you’re not saying anything.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. There’s nothing to note.” I say cattily.

“Are you scared I’m going to say something about you that’s not true?”

“Quite frankly, yes,” I say with a nod. “You quacks are all the same.”

“Uh-hmm. And do you often feel like people are talking about you?”

“Uh… I guess?” I say honestly.

He scribbles ‘paranoid’.

“I am not paranoid!” I snarl at him.

He holds his hands up. “Relax.” He says. “Really- deep breaths.” He jots down ‘defensive’.

“I want to go,” I repeat, glaring at his horrible handwriting.

‘Uncomfortable’ he jots.

I inhale deeply.

“Hour.” He says. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

“I hate being here,” I say.

“Yes, I’ve gathered that for myself.” He says. “I mean a little more about you. What do you like to do? Where do you live? What’s your favorite food? Movie? Color?”

“Why do you need to know?” I growl.

“Because-”

“I’m not giving you personal information. Go fuck yourself.”

“Daken-”

“Shut up.”

“I’m trying to-”

“SHUT UP,” I say forcefully.

Samson exhales slowly. “Do you know anything about PTSD?” He asks.

“No. And I don’t want to.”

“I think you should,” he says. “There’s a big possibility that you have it. Your father has it- though he refuses to come in to be officially tested and diagnosed.”

“Oh goodie. Something we have in common.” I grouse.

“How are things with your father?”

“Fuck off.” I hiss.

“How are things with your father?” He repeats. “Well? Okay? Bad?”

“Dreadful,” I say.

He jots more notes down. “He’s the one who’s made you seek treatment.” He says, looking down at the paper. “Right?”

“Yes. And I hate him for it.”

“Hate is a strong word.” Len clucks his tongue.

“And I mean it every time I say it,” I growl. “And I hate you for bringing him up.”

He raises a hand. “I got it, I got it, daddy bad.”

My skin crawls at the phrasing.

“How long are you going to hold your father responsible for something he had nothing to do with?” Len asks.

“Until he’s sufficiently apologized!” I snap.

“Apologized for what, exactly? He didn’t even know you were alive… if I’m getting my story straight.”

“You’re not.” I huff, crossing my arms. “No one ever does.”

“So set me straight,” Len says. “How did it actually happen?”

“He left us,” I say. “And then-”

“‘Us’?”

I nod. “My mother and I.”

He nods. “Continue.”

“He left us, she got shot, I got removed, and the rest of my life was hell while he got to live in a fucking mansion!”

“Okay, okay, let’s backtrack.” He says. “You’ve skipped several decades. Your father was brainwashed- right? You’re aware of that?”

I nod- though it pains me.

“And you’re aware that the moment he regained his memories- he went searching for you while mourning the loss of your mother?”

“To make himself feel better,” I growl.

“He really wanted to meet you, Daken,” Len says. “He really did.”

“Bullshit.”

“No really he-”

“BULL. SHIT.”

Len sighs. “Fine. You don’t want to listen to facts? Fine. Let’s keep going. Let’s talk about the man who ‘removed’ you.”

“Let’s not and say we did.”

“Let’s do and factually say we did,” Len says with a smile. “He was… the male figure for most of your life. You had to conform yourself to his ideas and teachings. And he abused you. Most likely thousands of times while you were together. Now, that abuse, do you remember what was happening when he hurt you?”

“I fucked up,” I say simply.

“And how did you fuck up?”

God. “You make it sound like it’s my fault,” I growl.

“It’s not!” he says quickly. “No, no, no. Not at all. This is not a victim-blaming exercise. I want you to see that his logic was flawed when he did this. So… let’s start with physical. What would you ‘fuck up’ to cause him to react to you with violence? What instances did he ‘snap’?”

“I…” Left the toothpaste cap off, towels on the floor, soap in the showers, bed unmade, failed to retain knowledge, didn’t perform to his expectations, said something stupid, did something stupid, failed to cook his meals correctly, failed to drive correctly, failed to submit to him, dropped something on the floor, had flirtatious interactions with other people, stabbed one of his colleagues, cried, laughed, enjoyed myself. “I don’t know,” I say- trying to stop the sheer stream of unwanted memories.

“Yea?” He says. “Yea. It was a lot. I can tell.”

“I want to go now,” I repeat for the third time.

“When did his abuse start? Was it right away? Did he make you trust him first?”

I was beaten within an inch of my life the first night I was with him.

“Right away,” I say. “Within the first few hours.”

You never forget the first time. Never. No matter how much you try.

“And your nightmares… are any of them of that first time?”

I nod.

“And they get worse?”

I nod again. “I want to go.”

“You’ve made it thirty minutes.” He says. “Give me thirty more and I swear we’re done for two more weeks.”

I look him over wearily before nodding.

“Okay,” he says. “So would you say his most popular form of abuse was physical or emotional?”

I tilt my head to the side. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

I’m glad he left off the ‘sexual’ part of that equation.

I’m sure he’s getting to it though.

“You okay?”

I nod.

He jots something else down.

This is painting me out to be a victim.

I’m not a victim.

I’m strong. I’m- I’m-

“How often would you say the physical abuse happened?” He asks. “Once a day, multiple times a day, once a week, one a month? How often?”

“Every day,” I say quietly. “I really want to go now.”

“Just give a few more minutes, Daken,” he says. “Please.”

“I want to go,” I growl.

“When did the sexual abuse start?” He asks. “About what age?”

I clam up. I can feel myself doing it.

We don’t talk about this.

We won’t talk about this.

“Young? Teenaged? Adult?”

“Why do you need to know?” I ask.

“For your evaluation,” he says.

“We’re not doing an evaluation.” I snarl.

He holds his hands up again. “When you have your nightmares are they of sexual abuse or physical abuse?” he asks.

I stay quiet.

“Are they of specific instances that you’re reliving?”

I keep quiet.

“Do you have hard times with certain noises? Certain actions? Crowds? Scents?”

I bite my lip to stop the stream of nonsense that would come out if I tried to answer that.

“There we go,” he says. “We hit something.”

“Leave me alone,” I say quietly.

“You do have triggers.”

“I want to go.”

“Is it a noise?”

I tense up.

“A specific noise or a phrase? Music? Ambient sounds?”

“Leave me alone.”

He jots something else down.

“So one of your triggers is auditory.” He says. “That’s good to know. We can work on that.”

I nod.

“We can work on it better if you tell me what it is.” He says gently.

“I-” I stop.

It’s what he called me.

No one else on the earth can call me by that.

It pisses me off because sometimes Logan does. He doesn’t  know it upsets me- he’s too dense to figure it out.

“Is it a phrase? A song? A nickname-” He stops. “Ah. So it is.”

“I haven’t said anything.” I hiss.

“I can feel it.” He says, sitting back in his chair. “Your pheromone manipulation is a pretty good truth-telling device. When you’re upset you're less likely to realize it’s slipping up. When it slips- it projects how you feel.” he points at me. “You’re upset. You’re scared. You’re panicked.”

I reel my power in with a distinct sense of betrayal.

“So.. what’s the nickname?” he asks- almost conversationally.

“I’m not telling you.” I keep my arms crossed- realizing now that I haven't moved this entire session.

“Was it… something he alone called you?”

“I want to leave.”

“You will.” He says. “I promise. I’m not going to keep you here.”

I nod.

“And you have Johnny in the waiting room,” he says. “He’ll help you out.”

I nod again.

“You could probably talk him into getting you something sweet. Sweets help after sessions like this.”

“Good to know.”

He smiles. “So what was the name?” He asks.

I lower my eyes to the carpet. “Boy.”

“Okay… and only he called you that?” He asks.

I Nod.

“And no one else can?”

I shake my head.

“So if I were to call you that, right now as we’re speaking, you would get upset with me?”

I glance up at him. “Possibly.”

“Did he call you that a lot?”

I nod again.

“Even when you were grown?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you deal with hearing that name when other people are talking to you in your daily life?”

“I ignore it,” I say.

“But you’re not ignoring it now.”

I exhale slowly. “I want to-”

“Leave. Yes. You’ve said that several times now, actually.” he leans forward. “Do you have any other triggers off the top of your head?”

“My throat,” I say.

“What about your throat?”

“People touching it.”

He nods. “Good, this is good. How about-”

“The smell of certain foods,” I say. “Certain types of bread, pasta, potatoes, rare meat.”

“Rare meat,” he says. “Just… any meat that’s cooked rare?”

I nod.

“Rabbits.”

“Cooked rabbits or… live rabbits?”

“Rabbits make a noise when they’re killed,” I say. “It’s deafening to me.”

Len jots all that I’ve said down.

“We’re going to work a lot on triggers next session.” He says. “And it’s not going to be pretty- I’ll go ahead and tell you that now. So come prepared to have a little bit of a rough time.”

I close my eyes, thinking.

There are decades worth of memories on the inside of my eyelids.

My mind's been marinated in them. They’re soaked into my subconscious.

Silk sheets are comforting. His sheets were cotton- but mine were silk. Silk sheets meant I was in my own bed. He never touched me in my own bed. Cotton sheets are bad- I have a hard time sleeping on them.

The smell of certain soaps- prison quality soaps bought in mass quantities about twice every year.

Fear- fear is a trigger. When I’m scared- I’m worried I’ll be hurt because of it.

I’m-

“Daken?”

I open my eyes to Johnny standing beside, bent at the waist. “Hey baby,” he says.

“Johnny?” I’m a little confused.

“Yea.” He nods. “Come on.”

I look back at Len, who’s moved from his chair to over beside his desk. “We’ll talk later,” Len says. “Once he’s a little more rested.”

“Thanks, Len,” Johnny says. “Really.”

“It was a pleasure,” Len says, filling out a small card of some sort. “Office number, my number, Nurse practitioners number, and your appointment date.” He hands it over to me. “If you don’t show up- we will come find you.”

I nod.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says. “Next time I suggest you wear a watch… so you don’t have to count the seconds manually.”

“Thanks.” I stand to my feet.

Johnny wraps his arm around my shoulders. “It’s still really early.” He says. “Want to grab some breakfast?”

“Ugh. I want to go home.” I say as we leave the office.

“Was it that bad?”

I nod.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll take you home. Maybe set you up in front of the couch with a good movie?”

“That sounds nice,” I admit.

“Good.” He smiles. “And when you go to your group tomorrow-”

“To… oh god. It’s Thursday.” I groan.

“Yea,” he says. “It is. You lost track of the days again?”

“To be fair I spent the Monday through Wednesday high,” I say. “I only came down last night before bed.”

He nods. “That’s okay. We’ll get you a calendar or something.”

We stand in the parking lot of the building.

“You did good, Daken,” Johnny says. “You know that? You made it the whole hour. Annnnd no one was bloody. I’m really, really, really proud of you.”

I inhale and nod.

“And you’re going to do great tomorrow,” he says. “Jessica called this morning. She said she has a new assignment for you. You left your phone on the nightstand.”

I groan. “What is it now?”

“She wants you to come early tomorrow and talk. That’s it. An hour more of your time.”

“Ugh. Fine.” I walk off towards his car.

“Hey,” he jogs to catch up, catching me a shoulder and spinning me around. “I love you,” He says with a goofy grin. “Just thought you should know.” 

I sigh. “I love you too.” 

He briefly kisses me before letting go. 

“You want anything to eat before we go home?” He asks as we both take our seats in the car. 

“Ice cream,” I say, looking out the window. “I want ice cream.” 

Johnny nods as he puts the car in reverse. “Ice cream it is.”

I always feel so bad coming to your stories bc I never have as many comments to leave, but I feel like there’s so little to fix! You know exactly where you’re going with your fics and you lay the groundwork for it so well <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also- y'all can find me on tumblr! Due to the actions of certain parties that will remain nameless, my asks are permanently turned off. Sorry- it's the one rule I have to keep myself sane!  
> But I do give random updates on stories. Post a lot of Daken shit. (A weird amount of venom for some reason right now) And sometimes I Post random art from the stories! 
> 
> Also, I'd love to read stories y'all write! The fandom needs new writers to keep stuff going and I know y'all have got some great ones! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! As this is posted I'm already typing up the next chapter- so that will be out in maybe a day or two if it goes well. 
> 
> Thanks again!


	4. Group #2- interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all! 
> 
> I made poor lullabyelaura proof this long ass chapter. She was such a good sport! Annnnd If you like Game Grumps- this is another little promo saying she is writing an Amazing fic that I know y'all will love. So if you'd like- head on over to her and give it a look see- it's really good! I promise you won't regret it! 
> 
> Okay so on to this chapter  
> warnings are   
> -drugs (cocaine)   
> -drug addiction  
> -alcohol use/misuse  
> -mention of past drug addiction  
> -drama  
> -unwilling treatment  
> -drug use  
> -drug mentions  
> -family drama.   
> -slight family abuse (Logan doesn't mean it that way, but that's how it comes out)  
> -violence  
> -a wolverine fight  
> -more drama  
> -and once again, drug use. 
> 
> Please enjoy, I hope those warning were enough to cover all the triggers!   
> If you like this fic, if you'd like, please leave me a comment or a kudos or what have you. I love hearing from y'all it really makes my day. And if you have any questions- I'll get back to you super fast!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reading!   
> This is so much fun to write (as weird at that sounds) And I love updating.   
> Also, on that train of thought- I did a lot of updates here recently (I intend to do it once a month) If you'd like to see one of the pics updated, leave me a comment and I'll try to get around to that one as soon as possible. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Showing up an hour early to something I do not want to do is not something I necessarily look forward to doing.

In fact- it’s something I’m absolutely NOT going to do.

Under any circumstances.

I was so nervous this morning that I hit my dealer up. Got a little less than last time, but enough to get me through today.

I did lines in my bathroom and collapsed on my bed, frustrated.

My skin is crawling and I can hear time itself move.

All the seconds. All the minutes. All the hours.

I laid motionless, feeling my blood pulse.

Around noon, I got up and made a cocktail. That quickly led to six cocktails. Then more coke.

I got a few texts from Johnny this evening. Support, mainly. Him saying how proud he is. How well he knows I’ll do. And finally- not to forget to go in early.

I try to stall as much as I can- trying to play it off as I was too busy.

The truth is- last week weighed more heavily on me than I thought it would. Hearing those stories, seeing those faces, how they held themselves up- it fucked with my head.

For several days, in fact.

So I’m trying to do anything within my power to not go back.

I don’t think my usual mask of bored and over critical will save me.

Until I concoct a new mask- I’ll have to try my best to stay away.

Playing ‘busy’ is the way to go.

Though I’ve actually nothing to do right now. I’m not working on anything. I have no missions.

I literally have nothing to do but get high and go to support group meetings. Fuck.

And I promised Johnny I’d drop the ‘get high’ hobby of mine.

Guess I already broke that promise.

God. Can’t even keep myself sober.

The hell is wrong with me?

What on earth am I to do with all this free time? What do they really expect of me??

Definitely not go an hour early to a place I hate.

Three hours? They want me to do three hours? No one else has to do three hours. No one else gets assignments.

No one else is getting this level of attention.

So why me?

I texted Jessica and told her I might not be able to make it.

I didn’t hear back from her- so I assumed she got it and just didn’t respond.

So I did four more lines.

My mind is moving at the speed of light.

It feels good.

I am everywhere and I am nowhere.

I am one with myself and who I want to be.

No doubts. No worries. Just me and myself.

The strangers faces come to mind. The women and the men. I guess, at this point in time, seeing as they’re actually attending tonight and I’m sitting on my bed high off my ass- they’re technically more ‘on top’ of this than I am.

They’re trying harder.

I doubt they’ll have their family breathing down their necks when they go home tonight.

I don’t know why the idea of that irks me so much.

Maybe because I was never allowed to be like this. I always had to be on top. Always unwavering. Even when I was at my worst- I had to better than others.

I suppose that’s the sort of thinking that landed me in this position.

When I think about it too much, my skin starts to crawl. My solution is to do a few more lines.

How can they possibly say drugs are bad for you when they feel so amazing??

It’s not like it’s going to stop my heart. The damage is healed before it even has time to set in.

In my seventy-five years, I’ve only OD’d once. And Heat? That was a drug that was a ‘Marcus Roston’ original. He meant for it to fuck people up. The fact that his power also had him near immortal simply meant that he knew how to take down other ‘nearly immortal’ individuals. He was an equal opportunity drug lord of destruction.

Another lovely testament to my good decision-making abilities.

Ten minutes later Jessica texts asking if she needs to send Logan to ‘check in on me’.

Ten minutes- has it been ten minutes? Longer.

I don’t exactly know where I am at this point.

I know that where ever that happens to be- Logan should not be there too.

So I graciously agree to come to class.

I’m not going an hour early though. She can forget that.

I even refused to tell Laura of her request.

It… did not work.

She showed up at the new (unknown to her) time and was waiting by my door. I have a nagging suspicion that Johnny was involved with that.

“Daken?” Laura asks, making me zone back in.

I’ve been spacing off this whole trip.

“What?”

She sighs. “I’ve taken time out of my day to help you- the least you can do is listen.”

“I’m sorry,” I say- which is half true. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that what you pulled tonight was unacceptable.” She says, focusing on the road.

“What I pulled?” I scoff.

“Trying to cancel your arranged meeting, trying to back out of your group, giving me the wrong time-”

“I’m not sorry,” I say stubbornly.

She’s quiet for a minute. “Are you high?”

“No.” I keep looking out my window.

I try to dull a little of her senses via pheromones- not much because of our close proximity and the fact that she’s more aware of them than most people.

“Take your glasses off.” She says. “Let me see your eyes.”

“No,” I growl.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t have the right to look at them.”

She stops the car on the side of the road, a few minutes from the church. “Let me see your eyes.” She says cooly, reaching over and yanking off my sunglasses. She examines me without the barrier of glass and plastic between us. “Daken…” She groans. “You couldn’t stay sober for one day?”

I inhale deeply. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you see the people you’re hurting?”

“I’m sorry!” I snap.

“You’re not.” She sighs. “And I know you’re not. You don’t know any better. How can you possibly be sorry?”

“I-”

“You’re not.” She repeats. “But you will be.” She says darkly, starting the car again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I growl as the church gets closer and closer.

“It means…” We pull into the church parking lot only to be greeted by a very familiar- very unwanted- face. “That you’ll have a few words with our father on the subject.” She pauses, stopping the car. “I’m sorry.” She says. “This wasn’t my idea. Just wanted you to know that.”

I lean my head back and groan.

“Face the music now,” Laura says. “It won’t be as bad as you think it will be.”

I turn and stare at her. She’s not backing down.

I get out of the car, going over to my father who’s in his usual confused lumberjack get up.

He leans on the back of his red truck- the rusty old thing. Hasn’t been riding his bike nearly as much as he used to. I think it’s because he and my stepmother go on so many trips together nowadays. They need something a little more comfortable.

“Life-giver.” I greet, messing with the sleeve of the Fantastic Four hoodie I’m wearing.

The downside to dating Johnny is that all of his clothing is branded.

The FF are extremely proud of themselves.

The air around us is cool and crisp, the sun having gone down about an hour ago.

Wind rustles through the trees that surround the church. From here, I can hear the ones in the surrounding neighborhood, as well.

The air smells fresh- something you don’t usually smell in neighborhoods this close to the city.

“You think you’re funny?” Logan asks gruffly, moving away from his truck.

The parking lot is empty besides my mustang, Logan’s truck, and a gold SUV that I’m betting- judging by the fact that it’s the most family-friendly choice in the parking lot- belongs to Jessica.

“Funny? I’m hilarious on all accounts- you’ll have to be more specific as to what you’re referring to.” If I keep using big words and keep my words from slurring- provided he keeps his distance and doesn’t see my eyes- he shouldn’t suspect anything and I can just slip into the church without incident.

“Your little antics.” He motions to me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t get to cancel on any of this- do you understand?” He asks. “That is not our deal.”

“I understand,” I say cooly- trying to head off the oncoming tirade.

“No- you don’t.” He reaches out and jabs me with a finger. “The rules are really simple, kid. The biggest one being that you follow the damn rules!”

“I’m sorry,” I lie.

“No, you aren’t. And that’s what’s pissing me off.” He growls.

“I’ve apologized- what more do you want from me?” I snarl.

“Why are you late?” He asks.

His question throws me.

I didn’t think of an excuse off the top of my head and now I’m flailing around for one.

“Because..”

Come on... Think. Think.

He steps forward, looking me over closely. Looking for signs of weakness- most likely. Our family is born with the hyper-vigilance gene. We observe everything. Even each other.

I’m surprised he’s doing it now as I haven’t said anything remotely threatening.

...Yet.

“Why are your pupils dilated?”

“I-” Fuck. That’s what he wanted to look for. Laura still has my damn glasses.

She’s over by the car, taking her sweet time getting out.

She doesn’t care much for verbal conflict. Mine and our fathers seem to bother her more than most.

“Will you let me answer one question before asking the next?” I snap. “I had a headache. I’m late because I had a headache.”

“Since when do you get headaches?”

That stops whatever I could say.

I used the world’s weakest defense on the man who my healing factor was gifted to me from. Of course he knows we can’t headaches.

Fuck. Read the room.

“I banged my head into the wall in the shower,” I say.

“You don’t smell like you’ve showered.”

“Stop smelling me,” I growl. “Why are you interrogating me? I’m here, aren’t I? Just let me go into the church and we can be done with it.”

“You weren’t late because you fell in the shower. That’s the stupidest lie you’ve ever told me. Why were you late?”

“I overslept.”

“Nope.

“I… was watching a good TV show.”

“When are you just going to stop wasting both of our times and tell me the truth?” He asks cooly.

“I..”

“You’re late, you tried to cancel, and your eyes are dilated. Do you know what that looks like to me?”

“That you’re reading too much into a situation that isn’t your business to begin with?” I growl.

Logan scowls. “What did you use? And don’t lie. We both know I can tell.”

Fuck.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, averting my eyes.

“Why are you so nervous then?”

“Nervous- please.” I scoff.

He reaches up and wipes something off my face.

“Don’t touch me!” I knock his hand away.

“Coke.” He says, showing me the powder that I stupidly left. “You didn’t have the decency to clean yourself up.”

I rub my nose, my fingers come back bloody.

“I know what this looks like-”

He notes my fingers. “Jesus Christ. You really couldn’t abide by the simplest of rules- could you?” He asks. “You really had to go and fuck up the first week out the gate.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, more sincerely this time.

“Don’t lie. We both know you’re not.” He wipes his hand on his denim jacket. “Now _I_ smell like coke. So thanks for that.” He mutters, distractedly.

“Too bad you can’t mask it.” I try to joke somewhat.

“This isn’t funny.” He snaps. “None of this is funny.”

“You- an x-man, Avenger, and educator- getting pulled over and arrested for cocaine would be very funny,” I argue. “To several people, in fact.”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, visibly counting to ten before he exhales.“Daken... What’s it going to take to get through to you?” He asks. “What do we have to do to get you clean? This was really simple- I mean really simple. See drugs? Don’t do them. Don’t go looking for them. Don’t purchase them. Stay away from people who have them- my fourteen-year-old students know better than this and they’re sixty years younger than you are!”

“I’m trying,” I say- it’s a weak excuse. I did momentarily try this morning. For about… ten minutes. Doesn’t that count for something?

“You’re trying huh?” Logan says. “Empty your pockets.”

“What?” Fuck.

There’s no way he can smell it. There’s no way he can see it. Yet- his ‘amazing’ detective abilities have once again prevailed.

What a wonderfully intelligent bloodhound he makes.

“Your pockets- empty them.”

It’s not like I don’t have more at home… but I was hoping to use this to get through the group tonight.

Him taking it makes me… upset?

Pissed- but not the usual pissed, no. It makes me feel like a child.

“I don’t have anything in my pockets.” I lie, taking a step back from him and his critical gaze.

“We both know that’s a lie. Empty em. Let’s go.”

I reach in my front right pocket of my jeans, pulling out nothing. “Ta-da!” I say sarcastically.

“Other one. Now.”

My left pocket is a little more problematic, as I think we both know it houses just what he’s looking for.

I make a show of pulling out nothing, in reality pushing the small plastic baggie down further into my pocket so it’s less detectable.

“Wanna try that again?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“It’s empty!”

“You can empty out yourself or I can empty it out for you.”

“It’s empty,” I repeat cooly.

“Boy-”

“Don’t call me that,” I growl.

“Don’t call you what?” He asks in confusion.

“You know what you said,” I say lowly.

“Boy? I can’t call you ‘boy’?”

I can’t take hearing that name- not after the conversation I had yesterday.

I snarl and jump him, getting a few punches in while he’s still in shock- wailing on him for a good five seconds before he starts blocking.

He pushes me off- sending me flying over the concrete. “You wanna do this,” He snarls. “Fine. Let’s do this.” He unsheathes his claws- letting me know he’s a little more on edge than he’d like for us to believe.

The sting of the bone pushing through my knuckles is comforting as I fully extend my primary claws... I keep the third claw in, it’s more for close distance attacks anyway. If I draw him in closer- I can get him pretty good.

Logan lunges at me, catching my arm with the tip of his claws- more like grazing.

God. I wish I hadn’t used so much.

I’m having a hard time blocking/analyzing his moves.

I roll to my side- trying to get up to my feet but my head is so… light.

I end up just laying there.

“Get up.” He nudges me with his boots.

“Go away!” I growl, sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He falls beside me on the concrete- his metal jaw making a loud cracking sound.

I get some distance- moving a good few feet away from him- stumbling as I do.

“I’m trying to prove a point to you.” He growls. “When you’re coked up- you fight like shit. Got it? We don’t have to really fight- I didn’t even really get you.”

I snarl at him and go for the lunge- only to be stopped when my sister jumps in front of me.

“Move, Laura!” I snarl at her.

“No.” Her eyes flash with determination.

Logan comes behind her. “That’s right,” he says smugly. “Even your sister can see-”

“MOVE OR I WILL GO THROUGH YOU!” I yell at her, cutting off his statement.

Neither of them winces at the rise in volume.

“Your fightings shit when you’re like this,” Logan says. “You don’t want to take me. You can’t take me.”

I try to dodge around Laura- but she grabs me as I move.

I shake free from her and back up.

“Calm down, boy,” Logan says. “It’s not that serious.”

The name reignites the flames within me- stoking the flames of my anger. Bright red flashes behind my eyelids.

Several instances like tonight play out with a totally different ending.

A million times I’ve been ‘corrected’ for overindulgence- drugs being just one of the things it happened to overindulge in. Every time there was a similar correction. And every lesson would start with that one little name.

I take a run at him and he visibly braces for impact. “Oh hell.” He mutters.

“Stop!” Laura gets in between us at the last second. “Both of you!” She turns and looks at me. “Empty your pockets.”

“Laura-”

“NOW.”

“There’s nothing-

“I said ‘NOW’.” She snarls.

I pull out the small bag, showing it to her. “Fine- here. You win. I’ll go into the church now.”

“On the ground.” She says.

I bend down and place it on the concrete.

“Three steps back.” She orders.

I carefully take three steps backward, almost falling over.

“He can’t even stand up properly,” Logan says. “We should just fill a tub up with cold water and keep him there until he sobers up.”

“I don’t see how that would help,” I say stiffly.

“It wouldn’t physically- but I bet your ass would be a lot more ready to listen if we were to shock you.”

Why is it always water with him?

He refuses to accept that our best fights- and subsequently the time he murdered me- have had some kind of effect on me. Like I should just be willing to forgive him drowning me.

Maybe he’s stupid enough to not realize it.

So no, I will not be letting him anywhere remotely near me if there is water involved.

“You,” Laura turns her attention to Logan, “Could have handled this better.”

“Laura-” He starts.

“Shush.” She says, cooly. “He didn’t need you to berate him. You knew he was intoxicated when he stepped out the car.” She stares between us. “We are going to get this straightened out in a _civilized_ manner for once. I am tired of having to pull you two off of each other.”

“He started it,” Logan says childishly.

“Me?!?? I started it?! You started it!!!”

“I don’t _care_ who started it,” Laura says. “And I am appalled that I, the youngest out of the three of us, have to play the parent in this situation. It infuriates me.”

Logan lowers his head. “Sorry, Laura.”

She turns to me expectantly.

“I’m not,” I say stubbornly. “He acts like a child on all occasions. It’s not surprising to me that you have to be the adult.”

“She said you were acting like a child too, dumbass,” Logan growls.

“Oh fuck you.” I snarl.

“BOYS,” Laura yells. “Listen to me, both of you,” She pauses to see if we’re listening. “You are acting like animals. Can we please, please, _please_ settle one dispute without violence or thinly veiled threats??”

“I’m sorry, Laura,” Logan says after a minute. “You’re right. You’re completely right.”

“I don’t think I’m the only one you owe an apology to.” She says, glancing from him to me.

“Why should I apologize? He’s probably too coked up to feel anything. Give him thirty minutes- he won’t even remember we had this argument.”

“God I wish that were true,” I growl.

“Apologize!” Laura snaps.

“Sorry,” Logan says.

“Now you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Good-”

“I’m sorry you’re an idiot and a shitty father.” I interrupt her.

“You just have to get the last word in- don’t you?” He says, crossing his arms.

“Daken, please.” Laura pleads. “Level with him. We’re on the same side here.”

I grit my teeth and try to keep my cool.

I’m not a beast. I’m not an animal. I can do this is a civilized fashion.

“Are you guys okay over there!?” I hear Jessica’s voice as she approaches.

She… does not sound happy.

“We’re fine! Having a little family discussion.” Logan calls back gruffly. “We are fine… aren’t we?” He asks me quietly. “We don’t want to involve anyone else… do we?”

I exhale slowly. “Yes. We’re fine.”

We’re not involving outside forces in this dispute.

“Yea.. no,” Jessica says. “I could hear the shouting and you’re bleeding. It also appears that there’s a bag some sort of illegal substance on the ground.” She stands there in her jeans and leather jacket combo again. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“He did coke before he came here,” Logan says after a moment of tense silence. “I want to take him home and get him sobered up.”

Jessica is quiet for a minute. “Can you do it without stabbing him?” She asks- not being funny either. She knows him enough to know that a stabbing would be totally within his wheelhouse of containment features. “Because I’ll be honest, from my standpoint? This looks pretty bad.”

“I barely nicked him.” Logan scoffs. “And he was too out of it to even attempt to use his claws.”

I.. guess he’s got me there. I didn’t even notice I’d retracted them.

“That’s not what I asked,” Jessica says sternly. “Can you take him home _without_ hurting him?” She says. “If you can’t he’s better off with me.”

“Trust me- you don’t want him,” Logan says.

“I love how you talk about me like I’m not standing right here,” I say sarcastically.

He glares at me. “Case and point.”

Jessica looks between us all. “Laura, over here please.” She says. “You seem to be the only one in this family who’s got any damn sense.”

The two women go to the side of the parking lot, leaving us in a tense standoff.

“All you had to do was show up,” Logan says. “Literally all you had to do.”

“Shut up.”

“All you had to do,” he repeats. “And you couldn’t do it! I go through all this bullshit for you and you just completely turn your nose up at every chance you’re given.”

“I don’t need your chances,” I growl.

“B-” He stops. “Son, don’t be stupid. Please- for once in your life- do not be stupid.”

“I-”

Jessica clears her throat as she and Laura come back. “Laura will take him back to his place.” She says. “Can you join them without laying your hands _or claws_ on him?”

“Yea,” Logan says. “He just needs to get sober and all of this will be fine... I’ll go through his place and find his stash.”

I position myself closer to the baggie.

“No you won’t!” Now I have to distract him.

I’ll be honest- I didn’t think of this until he said he was going to take it- but this may just be the last bit of coke I have on my person for a while. I can’t let them take it.

“Shut it,” Logan growls. “I’ll find his stash,” he repeats. “Make sure he doesn’t have anymore.”

“What gives you the right-”

“You want to be a druggie?” He asks. “You really want to go down that road?”

“Says the alcoholic.” I snarl.

“So I’ve been in your position.” He growls. “I’m trying to help your stupid ass.”

“Logan, please, no name-calling,” Laura says.

“You guys really do end everything in a fist fight- don’t you?” Jessica asks with a smirk. “I’d heard that you did but I thought it was a joke.”

“Sometimes he just needs whacked upside the head,” Logan says, crossing his arms and taking his attention off of me.

I put my foot over the baggie- no one notices.

“And you do realize that he’s here for an _abuse_ support group,” Jessica says dryly. “And that you’re technically abusing him in the parking lot.”

“This ain’t abuse.” Logan scoffs. “It’s just me getting through to him.”

“With physical violence.” She says pointedly.

Logan is quiet for a minute. “What do you want me to do- _hug_ the stupid out of him?”

“Communicate,” Jessica says. “It’s actually really easy once you give it a shot.”

“That does seem to be the better option,” Laura adds. “We can work through things without all of,” She motions to us, “This.”

I have to get this baggy off the ground.

I sit down- I can’t think of anything else-and slide my hand under my shoe.

“Oh get off the ground.” Logan groans. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”

I slyly slide my hand into my pocket. “I don’t want to stand anymore.” I lay on my back- really selling the idea of my being too drugged up to act properly.

“Get off the ground.” Logan walks over and grabs my right arm- yanking me to my feet.

“OWWW!” I snarl at him while subtly emitting just a few choice pheromones- to cloud his mind and his senses. They don’t need to know I have this. And if he has his way, he’s going to tear the apartment up looking for more. It might even be easier to just go ahead and tell him where it is. It’s not like I can’t get more.

“In the car.” He orders. “Now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Logan- be gentle.” Jessica scolds.

Logan pats my shoulder, brushing the dirt off of my t-shirt. “Good as new,” he says, backing off.

The brunette woman- smaller than my sister- but probably stronger than the two of us put together, joins me at my side. “You should go with them.” She says. “Get sober.”

If it were anyone else, I’d be annoyed. But she seems apt at calling Logan on his bullshit.

“If I’m not back next week,” I say dryly, “Then you know what happened.”

“If he does anything violent- I’ll beat his ass to a pulp next time I see him,” Jessica says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Right. I’d like to see that happen.

Not that Jessica doesn’t get a rep for being a badass- Logan’s just an annoying motherfucker to try and put down. The only one who ever gets an upper hand is Creed- and figuring out how he did it would involve an actual discussion with the man- which is my least favorite thing to have. I’d rather swallow glass- in fact.

“Your next assignment is to actually make it to class.” She says. “Sober. On time. And actually participate. Do you think you can handle it?”

I nod my head.

“Good.”

Logan and Laura are arguing over how to get me home- it’s nice to see someone else bothering with him.

I’m so focused on their argument, that I almost don’t feel her go in my pocket. “And I’ll take this.” She says lowly, hiding the baggy in her hand, “And we just won’t mention that you tried to take it back. Cool?”

She could have ratted me out… but she didn’t.

“Sober.” She says, turning her back to Logan and Laura and dumping the cocaine on the ground, spreading it with her boot and making it utterly unusable. “Got it?”

I nod.

“Hey!” She calls over, “If you’re done- I think he just needs to go sleep this off.”

I do feel kinda like hell warmed over.

Logan walks over and takes my arm. “Tell Luke we’ll be at the bar for Sunday’s game if he wants to join.” He says.

“I will tell him.” She says. “But you’re not getting him drunk again- got me?”

Logan chuckles. “Wouldn’t dream of it!” He walks me to my own car, opening the backseat. “If you try to jump out of this car or get away in any fashion I promise you, you will not like the consequences.” He says lowly. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I say lowly- watching more cars pull into the parking lot.

“Those people,” He nods to the ones exiting their cars and coming to talk to Jessica, “The people in this group- they are at least trying to get better. And right now, that puts them ten steps above you-you got that? You are not too good for this. You are not too good for them. You are right where you belong. And you're not getting out of this again. Next time you can come and pass out in the chair and have someone call 911. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I repeat.

He pats my shoulder. “Give me your house keys.”

“What?”

“Your keys.” He repeats. “You’re going to Johnny’s while I go sweep your apartment.”

I know fighting at this point is pretty much the stupidest thing I could do, so I nod, reaching into my back pocket and handing over my keyring.

“Thanks.”

He closes the door, leaving me to my thoughts.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s just being a jackass- though. And I like that option better. So.. that’s the one I’m going to go with. At least for right now. When I’m ready to be a ‘bigger’ person and ‘grow’, I’ll revisit the subject.

As for right now… yea. He’s just a jackass.


End file.
